Konig stared at the pregnancy test in his hand, completely still, like his brain had short-circuited. He blinked once. Then twice.

“We… we used a condom,” he said slowly, as if that fact alone should erase the two glaring pink lines in front of him.

You sighed, already bracing yourself. “I know. I know. But you know, condoms only work 97 percent of the time.”

Konig’s head snapped up, his wide eyes full of sheer disbelief. “Was?” A pause. Then louder: “What? WHAT?! Well, they should put that on the box!”

“They do!” you shot back.

“No, they don’t!” he barked, already reaching for the box with the speed of a man desperate for reality to bend in his favor. He flipped it over, his eyes scanning furiously—then he found it. The tiny fine print confirming exactly what you’d said. His entire body went rigid.

“Well, they should put it in huge black letters!” he exploded, waving the box in the air like it had personally betrayed him.

You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Look, let’s just forget about the condom—”

Konig tossed the box over his shoulder like it was worthless. “Well, I may as well have!”